The Cecil Whig., 1887-05-28
NINE. SAINTE CATHERINE.
Tnuchins Little Incident Related by IA
Famous Novelist.

| say unto YOU that there shall he more Joy in
heaven over one sinner that rcpenteth than over
ninety and nine righteous persons who need no
rer"ntaA"e--I-UKE wv. :.
Ouc evening in November, on the eve
of Stinta Cathe:ine's Day the iron gate
| Of the prison at Auberive rolled back Oh
its hinges and gave passage TO women
OF about thirty years of age. She was
dressed in = faded woolcn gown and wore
on her head a white linen cap, adjusted
in strange fashion round her pale fea-
tureS, whose wan expression BETRAYED
long detention and meagre fare. Her
fellow prisoners had nicknamed her the
Bretorne, no doubt because she was a
native Of Brittany. Condemned for the
heinous crime of infanticide, she had
been brought to the House of Detention
ii prison van exactly six years ago and
had just been set liee, having served her
time.
After getting back her old clothes and
receiving at The gretfe or registry the
ridiculously small sum of money set
aside Tor her by the prison authorities in
return for six long years of unremitting
hard labor she was now at last once more
Tree, with her passport signed for Lam
gres. The coach, however, for this lat
ter place has already left. Timid and
awkward, she directed her falterng steps
towards the nearest inn and with a tire
mutous voice inquired if she could be ac-
commOdated for the night. The inn was
crowded with customers, and the iun-
keeper, who little cared to house ''brds
Of that feather advised her to push on
to the wine shop at the other end of the
village.
The Br2tonne, more awkward and
tlmid than before, went on her way and
knocked at the door Of the wine shop,
| mere pot house for navvies. The publi-
can S wife eyed her mistrustfuly from
head to foot and guessing that she had
just left tho Ccntrale, or prison, sent
her eff with the excuse thai she did net
take in dodgers. Not daring to insist,
the poor woman turned away with
dropping head, while feeling of anger
rose IL her heart against those who thus
drove her from their door.
She had only one thing left to do and
that was to reach Langres on foot.
Night, however, sets in early towards the
close OF November, so that darkness soon
overlook the wayfarer on the dusky road
that extended far away through the
lonesome wood and the north wind blew
keen among the swaying trees scatter
ing large heaps of dead leaves by the
way. During the six long years she had
spent in solitary confinement the Bre-
tonne had lost the habit of walking
Her joints were as if knotted and her
feet, unused to any but wooden shoes,
wera cramped in the leather ones she
had on. After getting over league or
50 Of ground her heels We're sorely blis-
tered and she felt already tired out. She
Il hn, %, Il, /
ing at the thought that she might have
TO die of cold and hunger in so dark
uigIt and with such a nipping blast that
chilled her to the bone
Suddenly. along the solitary road, and
in she pauSes of the cold north wind, she
thought she heard the drawling tones of
somebody singing in the distance. She
listened eagerly and was soon convinced
that she caught the sound of one Of those
dear, monotOnOuS snatcheS of nursery
rhymes with which children are nursed
to sleep. Rising to her feet she went in
the direction of the voice and at the turn
of cross road beheld red light glm-
mering through the branches. Five min
utes after she reached a clay built hovel,
the roof Of which, covered with clodS,
leaned against rock, and whose only
window gave passage to tlickeriug ray.
With anxious heart she resolved to knock
at the door. AS soon as she had done so
the singing ceased and peasant woman
came to the threshold.
She was about the same age as the Bre.
tonne, but worn and wasted with field
labor. Her short gown, which was rent
in places, showed her dark, un-burnt
skin; her reddish har fell in disorder
from under meath a little cloth cap and
her gray eyes looked with astonishment
at the stranger, whose face had, in fact,
something unusual in its pallid express
sion.
Good evening", said the peasant
woman raising the lamp she held in her
hand; what do you want"
Il am ready to drop and can go no fur
ther, ;" mu1mured the Bretonne with
sigh of deep anguish, " the town is yet
far off, ard if you d let me put up here for
the night would be a real blessing. I've
money and would gladly pay you for your
trouble"
Come in, said the peasent, without
out OF curiosity than from any mistrust
why didn't you stop at Auberive?"
They wouldn't take me in,' she an
swered And, casting down her blue
eyes, added: because, you see, I've
Just left the Centrale, and that doesen't
give people confidence
"Ah, Well, come in all the same. I've
little to fear any way, never having had
anything but misery for my lot. 1t would
be unreasonable to leave Christian out
of doors in such cold weather: I'll make
| you up a bed with a strewing of
heather
The peasent women went to a shed and
brought in several armfulS of dry heath,
which she spread in a corner near the
chimney place.
"lou live alone here?' .ventured to ask
the Bretonne.
'Ges, with my little girl, who is near
upon seven. | earn for both of us by
working in the wood"
Your man is dead then?"
Il never had one" bluntly reioined La
Flenriotte, the poor girl has no father
/ Wen, you know. we all have oar troubles
There's your bed Low, and here are two
III three potatoes which were left from
/ supper. lis all have to offer you"
l. I